by Jody Hedlund
His hand on her shoulder lingered a moment longer before he moved on, making his way down the aisle to check on the children. Marianne hoped he’d come back and sit on the bench across from her so they could talk again as they had last night. When he passed her by and returned to his spot farther back, she tried to quell her disappointment.
The next morning, they reached Chicago and left the passenger car that had been their home for the last two days. Walking through the train station with thirty children along with their belongings was harrowing. They were jostled by passengers coming and going, and Marianne was afraid that even though the children were holding hands, one or more of the littlest would end up separated and lost in the vast depot.
By the time they reached the Illinois Central train and boarded, Marianne was hot and perspiring and as exhausted as though she’d worked a full day in a sweatshop. All the while, Dorothea clung to her, never once leaving her side. The sobs hadn’t returned, however, even after she’d relinquished the music box back into Marianne’s bag.
Drew instructed her to wait aboard the train with the children until departure. Of course, the older boys left just as soon as Drew did, ignoring her calls for them to remain on board.
As the minutes passed, Marianne only stewed in her worry. She couldn’t stop from fearing that somehow Drew would miss getting back to the train on time and she’d be all alone with the children. The more distraught she became, the rowdier and louder the children grew.
When a fight erupted between several boys, Marianne expelled a deep breath and tried to release her own tension. She suspected they would follow her suit—if she remained calm and positive, they would be too. At least that was how it appeared to work when Drew was with them. He had a way of making everything seem as if it would turn out just right.
After she settled the dispute between the boys, she persuaded everyone to return to their benches with the promise of a story. Once the car was silent and all eyes were upon her, a small wave of panic rippled through her. She hadn’t told any stories since Sophie ran away. Like her music, she’d wanted to cut that part of her away, hadn’t wanted to think about all the memories she’d lost.
Thin fingers wound through Marianne’s, and she glanced down to find Dorothea peering up at her with her big brown eyes. The sadness and fear that had been there yesterday had been pushed aside somehow. And now in their place her eyes radiated trust.
Marianne kissed the girl’s forehead. Then she made herself tell one of the fairy tales Sophie had loved hearing, one about a young woman whose father died, leaving her an orphan in the care of a callous and wicked stepmother who had two very spoiled daughters.
She hadn’t paid attention to the passing of time until she neared the end of the story and noticed Drew leaning casually against the train car door, watching her with rapt attention. She hadn’t seen him come in, and at the realization that he was staring at her and listening to her story, she fumbled over the last couple of sentences, completely self-conscious. Quickly she closed her tale with “The End.”
Drew clapped with exaggerated slowness, a smile creeping up the corners of his mouth. And when the children noticed his clapping, they joined in, until soon their applause filled the car. When the noise faded, Drew said, “It would seem Miss Neumann is not only the faster runner, but she’s also the better storyteller.” At the genuine admiration shining in his eyes, Marianne could only nod and duck her head, not sure if she was embarrassed by his praise or pleased.
“Perhaps Miss Neumann and I will have a storytelling competition this afternoon,” he continued, “and you’ll be the judges—clapping loudest for the story you like the best.”
Marianne shook her head in protest. She’d already gone above and beyond for the children by sharing her music box and then a story, neither of which she felt comfortable doing. But seeing Drew’s grin and wink, she stopped herself. There was something in his eyes that pleaded with her to understand. This would be the most difficult afternoon of the trip yet. The closer they got to their first placing-out stop, the harder it would be for the children as the reality of what was to come later today began to sink in.
She nodded and tried to muster a smile. Drew Brady, among his many other admirable characteristics, was turning out to be a persuasive man. She was embarrassed to admit he had the power to get her to do his bidding and with little effort on his part. And the longer she was with him, the less resisting she was inclined to do.
Chapter 8
The sound of the children’s laughter echoed in the air and made Drew smile. All around on the grassy embankment along the canal, the orphans ran in wild abandonment in a game of tag.
Earlier, when they received news their train would be delayed in leaving Chicago for several more hours due to a problem with the engine, the stationmaster allowed them to step outside until further notice. Although Marianne was concerned something might happen to one of the children amidst the busyness of the town, Drew made the best of their delay by occupying everyone with games. Thankfully he had an endless supply of them at the ready from his days of being a schoolteacher.
The summer day was hot and cloudless, and the humidity had rolled in, making everything damp and sticky. His sights kept returning to the canal, to the cool water that would refresh them all. But as much as he wanted to take a dip, he wouldn’t do it. It would only incite the children to follow his example, and before he knew it they’d all be swimming.
He’d learned his lesson that fateful day when his old life had ended, when he left his home and family behind. And he wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. In fact, he’d told the children to stay away from the canal, that if he caught anyone even putting a hand into the water, he’d march them back to their train car.
At the canal’s edge, Marianne sat in the shade of a willow with several girls around her, along with a few infants. A breeze tousled the tangled willow branches, which provided a little relief from the heat. She was using the opportunity to teach the older girls how to braid hair and wrap it into stylish coils.
“She sure is purty, ain’t she?” Redheaded Jethro spoke beside him, peering up at him with his freckled face, his smile revealing the gap of his missing front teeth.
Drew considered pretending he didn’t know who Jethro was referring to. But after living on the streets, sometimes Jethro was too smart for his own good and he’d see right past Drew’s charade.
“She is mighty pretty,” Drew admitted, admiring Marianne’s bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and animated features as she rose to help one of the girls twist a braid. Her head bumped against a branch, which knocked off her fashionable hat. Before she could bend to capture it, the hat rolled down the embankment and fell into the canal.
The current was lazy today. Even so, the straw hat with its colorful ribbons began to drift away from the shore.
Marianne and the other girls started forward, getting much too close to the edge for Drew’s comfort.
“Stay away from the canal!” he shouted, bolting toward the group.
At his terse command, the girls all backed up and watched his approach—all except Marianne. Instead, she got down on her knees and started to reach for the hat.
“Miss Neumann!” he called, sprinting toward her. “Don’t try to get the hat!”
At the sharpness in his tone, she sat back on her knees and glanced at him, a frown creasing her brow. When she returned her attention to the hat, she gave a cry of dismay. “Now look. It’s completely out of reach.”
Drew dropped to the grass next to her. He stretched out over the canal and tried to grasp the hat, but it drifted farther away.
Marianne began to unbuckle her shoes.
“You can’t go in,” he said more forcefully than he intended.
“I’m not losing my best hat.” She had one shoe off and was unrolling her stocking.
“I’ll buy you another.”
“The river is shallow here. I’ll wade out for it.”
He put a
hand on her arm to stop her and then softened his voice. “Please.”
She halted and searched his face as though attempting to understand his hesitation. “Are you offering to make the rescue for me?”
He’d longed to take a dip, but with all the children crowding around them, he didn’t want to risk any of them getting in the water with him.
“Since you don’t think I’m capable of rescuing my hat,” she added with a grin.
“Do you know how to swim?”
“No. Do you?”
“I’m an excellent swimmer.”
“Then I dare you to get it.”
A dare? He loved a good dare. How could he refuse?
“Unless you’re not as excellent as you say you are,” she said, her eyes glimmering with the challenge, making him all the more eager to prove himself.
“I can do it,” one of the younger boys piped up.
“No,” Drew said quickly. “If everyone agrees to stay out of the water, I’ll go in to rescue Miss Neumann’s hat.”
The children clamored their agreement and clapped in their excitement, which only spurred Drew on as he shed his shoes and socks, shrugged out of his coat and vest, and emptied his pockets. With Marianne’s eyes still brimming with her challenge, he jumped in. The water came up to his thighs, and even though it was cold, it felt good.
He waded out farther until he was up to his chest, letting the water soothe his overheated skin. Within easy reach of the hat, he grabbed it and started back to the shore.
“I could have done that,” Marianne said, crossing her arms, clearly unimpressed.
He tossed her hat onto the shore so that it landed at her feet. Then he dove under the water, submerging himself. He swam to the middle of the canal, flipped on his back, and floated downriver for a few seconds. Then he paddled around and waved at his audience on the riverbank.
This time she was smiling as widely as the children. With a showy flip, he went back under and returned to the shore with a few effortless strokes.
As he climbed out, the children chorused their praise. He was dripping wet and wouldn’t dry easily in the humidity. But the cooling off was worth it, and so was the sight of Marianne’s delighted smile at his accomplishment. Her brown eyes sparkled with an admiration that warmed his blood.
“Did I prove myself, Miss Neumann?” he asked, standing before her and letting rivulets of water trail down his shirt and trousers to form a puddle at his bare feet.
“Yes, very much so.” Her gaze dropped to his wet shirt plastered to his chest. Her eyes widened, and she glanced away, but not before he caught sight of the curiosity and interest in her eyes.
She fiddled with the brim of her hat, still dripping with river water, and looked everywhere but at him.
He reached for the hat, which she relinquished without a word. “Since I rescued it, then I beg you to allow me the honor of returning it to your head.” He spoke gallantly and waved the hat with as much drama as he could.
The children giggled at his antics.
“You may do the honor, sir,” she said, playing along with him. She bowed her head before him, the sunlight warming her hair to a glossy sheen.
His heart swelled with fondness for this young woman before him, at her ability not only to put up with his playfulness but to go along with it, even seeming to enjoy herself. He couldn’t remember a time when any other person, much less a woman, had accepted him so readily for who he was and not who they expected him to be.
As he gently lowered the hat onto her head, water dripped into her hair and down her face. But instead of making a fuss or being irritated, she lifted her face and beamed up at him as if he were her knight in shining armor.
Drew stretched his arms high above his head and let the chilled night air wake him up. He hadn’t planned to arrive in Benton at three o’clock in the morning. But the delay in Chicago had lasted much longer than he’d anticipated. Even after they returned to the train from their time along the canal, they’d still had to wait.
He’d telegrammed Reverend Smith, the minister of the Presbyterian church in Benton, and informed him they would arrive late and would need to postpone the placing-out meeting until the next day. Reverend Smith was in charge of the committee Drew initiated several weeks ahead of their arrival. While Drew could admit he wasn’t the most organized agent working for the Children’s Aid Society, he still attempted to form committees in the towns they would visit over the next few days. Such committees usually consisted of clergymen, merchants, newspaper editors, doctors, and lawyers.
Drew counted on the committee to publicize the arrival of the orphans by posting advertisements around town. The committee also located lodgings for their party at a local hotel or tavern, arranged a site where the children could be distributed among willing families, and helped specify the merits of the people applying to take in the children.
After his previous trips, Drew realized the committees were invaluable to his job. He needed them to make the placing out run smoothly. His group of orphans wouldn’t stop at every small town along the Illinois Central. Brace had encouraged the agents to choose well-established towns situated in prosperous farm country, those boasting a population of three to four thousand and having good schools and churches.
Benton, Mayfield, and Dresden had qualified. They were also clustered fairly close together, so that on the return trip the work of following up on placements would be easier to accomplish and take less time.
“Is this it?” came Marianne’s sleepy whisper behind him.
He turned to see she’d awoken and had followed him out of the train car. She stifled a yawn behind her hand.
“Yes. We’re finally here.”
Above, the sky was sprinkled with stars and a bright full moon, which lit the deserted train platform as well as the town beyond. The businesses were closed, the storefronts black, and even the tavern was quiet. The only sounds were the hiss of the engine and the train workers busy refueling.
“What will we do with the children?” Marianne asked, coming alongside him. “Will the train wait until dawn to leave?”
Drew shook his head and searched Main Street for the church and the parsonage. Did he dare attempt to wake Reverend Smith at three in the morning? Or was it better for the children to make themselves comfortable on the station’s platform? After all, it was a warm night, not a cloud in the sky. The children actually might enjoy sleeping under the stars.
“No, we can’t delay the train. It’s already running behind schedule. We’ll have to sleep out here on the platform until morning.”
He expected her to protest, but instead she nodded. “At least they’ll have more room to spread out here.”
They worked together to rouse the children, carrying the youngest in an attempt not to disturb them. It took some time before all the orphans and their belongings were off the train. By then the children were wide awake. He agreed with Marianne when she told the children they must all lie down and try to sleep until daybreak. The littlest ones resumed their slumber, while the older ones, who were too excited to sleep, rested quietly.
Drew positioned himself in the middle of the boys, staring up into the sky and trying not to think about Marianne with the girls only a dozen feet away. His thoughts returned to the way she’d looked earlier in the day when he’d put her hat back on and helped her to her feet, how pretty she was. Or when he’d observed her telling a story to the children. Her delicate features were animated and more beautiful than ever, even more beautiful than when she’d tasted the strawberries.
Heat coiled in his gut at the thought of her lips covered in strawberry juice. Kissable. That’s what her lips were. Pert, pretty, sassy, and kissable. He almost smiled at the thought but then gave himself a mental shake.
What was he doing letting his thoughts drift in that direction? As much as he enjoyed flirting, that was all he wanted. He had no desire to get into a relationship. Not ever again.
For a brief moment, his mind flas
hed to another time and another place, the week before his wedding, the last kiss he’d shared with Charlotte, when she still loved and wanted him. But the final week of school had changed all that. One tragic instant had changed everything.
His body stiffened, and he sat up in protest of the memories he never wanted to ponder again. He blew out a pent-up breath and in the process felt a pair of eyes upon him.
He shifted, and across the slumbering children, he saw Marianne. She was lying on her back and had tilted her head to watch him. When his gaze connected with hers, something in her expression said she was thinking about the strawberries too, that she was remembering his reaction and was wondering what it would be like to kiss him.
What would it be like to go to her at this very moment and pull her into his arms? He’d never do it. He cared too much about his job and the example he set to the children to ever do something so rash around them. Nevertheless, the image of bending in and gently exploring her mouth with his set him on fire.
Her eyes widened as though sensing his wayward thoughts. And she did that chewing thing with her inner cheek that only made him want to kiss her even more.
He made himself break the connection and lie back down. As tempting as it was to glance at her and think about kissing her, he stared straight up into the sky, to the fading stars. He was surprised at the strength of his reaction to her. He couldn’t remember having such a strong physical reaction even to Charlotte.
What was wrong with him?
He’d admonished himself to treat Marianne like a friend and nothing more, yet his body was betraying him. Was he growing attracted to her because he’d spent so much time with her during the last three days of travel?
Was it because he genuinely admired her kindness to the children? He could tell she cared about them with a depth that rivaled his.
Was it because she was always surprising him? Like when he’d walked in on her telling the children a story?
Or was it because she was so open with her emotions and thoughts? He never had to guess how she was feeling or what she was thinking. There was no pretense in her nature, which was a welcome relief from the way most women he’d known acted.
